Raccoon City Communications

Deacon.

Words cannot express how grateful I am to you. I am sorry for my brother accidentally attacking you, he didn't know who you were.

When I am able, can I take you out to dinner?

Rabastan?

Amy?

[A bunch of noise is heard, a crying, a laughing and loud music, similar to what he heard in his club.]

Rabastan?! Where are you, you bloody wank?

Where are you? You haven't been home in 2 bloody days and I haven't even gotten a call. Are you alright?

Deacon? How are you feeling? If you should not respond, I'll assume you are one of them by now.

People in and out, in and out all day. Where am I? What's going on? I'm tried of answering all these mundane questions. I had to figure it out on my own, so should everyone else. Idiots, all of them. Maybe I should just get used to it...not likely.

Since I've arrived there hasn't been a single thing that made sense. Besides the hospital and even that doesn't entirely. Zombies? Mutant dogs? People just appearing in from no where? It sounds like a bunch of rubbish, but its real...unfortunately.

Are you kidding me? Zombies? I think one of them bit me, but what do I care? Seems alright to me. Stupid fucking humans. Can't feed themselves, end their wars, be civil, but they can create undead shambling fucking hordes.

Way to go, your tax dollars at work. I hate this place already.